


Many Gifts for Michael

by Persiflage



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Female Friendship, Gift Giving, Give Michael all the TLC, Male-Female Friendship, Metafiction, POV Character of Color, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Supportive Discovery Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: Canon Divergence: Michael, with Tilly's assistance, follows up on Spock's comment about the lack of personal decoration in her shared quarters. In the process she gets many gifts, not all of them tangible.





	Many Gifts for Michael

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a bit of meta on my Tumblr, but then I decided I wanted to turn it into actual fic in which Michael not only gets given gifts with which to decorate her shared quarters, but also receives the gifts of friendship, support, caring, and loving that she so richly deserves according to everyone except the actual _Disco_ writers!!
> 
> The arrival of Emperor Georgiou at the end was as unexpected to me as to Michael.

“Do you think I should decorate my half of our quarters?” Michael asks Tilly as they finish dressing one morning.

Tilly stops in the middle of pulling on her boot, staring first at Michael, then the empty space around her, then looking over at her own space, filled with photos and other bits and pieces of her personal effects.

“Yes!” she says emphatically. “Of course you should, Michael. Why haven’t you?”

Michael shrugs a bit. “If you recall, I came here off a prison transport ship. No luggage. No personal effects. Just the prison uniform on my back.”

Tilly blushes, biting at her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Michael, I –”

Michael shakes her head. “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” she says. “Just explaining.”

“Do you want to decorate?”

“When Spock saw this room for the first time, it was one of the first things he commented on – the Spartan nature of my half.”

“That doesn’t actually answer my question,” Tilly points out with the kind of single-mindedness that Michael knows is mostly a force for good where her roommate’s concerned.

“I guess,” Michael says with a shrug. “Although I don’t know what I’d use – all of my things are in storage, back on Vulcan.”

“You could send for your things,” Tilly says brightly. “But while you wait –” She jumps up and starts digging through her things, emerging finally with a photo frame. “Here.” 

Michael takes the empty frame, blue with a silver and gold swirling design around the edges, then watches as her friend takes the photo of the two of them from its frame by the head of her bed. “Tilly, I can’t take that,” she objects quickly.

“Of course you can! I can get another copy,” Tilly assures her. She sits on the bed beside Michael and deftly slips the photo into the frame, then hands it back. “There, now your space won’t look totally barren.”

“Thank you, Tilly.” She somewhat awkwardly wraps an arm around her friend’s shoulders, and gets a two-armed squeeze in return.

“Commander Burnham to the Bridge, please.” Captain Pike’s voice cuts through any further discussion, and Michael hastily, yet carefully, sets down the photo fame, then heads off for the Bridge.

CMB-CMB-CMB-CMB

Michael’s back in her quarters at the end of her shift when the door chimes, and when she opens it she discovers Saru, bearing Philippa’s telescope in one arm, and a large flowering plant in a pot in the other.

“Saru?” Michael steps back to allow him into the room, but she can’t help wondering what he’s doing here.

“Ensign Tilly told me that you have decided to decorate your quarters, and I thought this was the perfect opportunity to return to you Captain Georgiou’s telescope. I felt awkward after accepting it before, and I have felt awkward about keeping it, so I am now, less awkwardly I hope, returning it.”

“But Saru –” Michael begins, feeling a little distressed. 

He clasps her shoulder gently. “I know why you gave it to me, Michael, and don’t think I didn’t, don’t, appreciate the thought, I do. But it was Captain Georgiou’s intention that you should inherit it, and I do not feel right keeping it. I should have returned it to you sooner. I let my jealousy get in the way.” He sets the telescope down on her bed, then holds out the plant pot. “And this is just from me.”

“That’s one of your Fredalia plants,” Michael observes, recognising the tell-tale red flowers. 

“Yes it is. I thought you might like one, in memory of our trip to Keminar. They don’t grow as well on a starship, as they do there, but they can be grown here.”

“Thank you, Saru.” Michael stretches right up on her toes and just manages to press a kiss to his cheek, which clearly startles him, but he smiles, then cups her cheek in one of his large hands.

“Never forget that we are family now, Michael Burnham,” he says solemnly, then he looks at her space before setting the pot down on the table at the foot of her bed. “Do you have time to sit with me while I explain its care to you?”

“Don’t you have to get back to the Bridge?” she asks, surprised.

“I asked Captain Pike for thirty minutes personal time to speak with you, and he granted it readily,” the Kelpien says.

“Then yes,” Michael says, and they settle on her bed as he talks her through how to care for her new plant. She listens intently, committing everything to memory, and afterwards, since he still has ten minutes of his personal time left, she encourages him to share a story of his sister, Siranna, with her.

When he’s finished, he stands up, then turns to her and clasps her shoulder. “I am glad of our friendship, Michael Burnham,” he says with quiet emphasis before he turns and quickly walks out of the room, leaving Michael gazing after him with a full heart.

After he’s gone she sets up Captain Georgiou’s telescope near the window, then sits on her bed for a few minutes to spend time recalling her friend Philippa.

CMB-CMB-CMB-CMB

Two days later Michael’s finishing her breakfast, after pulling an all-nighter in the lab, when Keyla and Joann sit down at her table.

“We heard you’re re-decorating,” Joann says.

“Does everyone know?” Michael asks, a little bewildered.

“Michael, we’re on a starship in space, of course everyone knows,” Keyla says with a soft laugh. “Besides, you know Tilly.”

Michael half smiles. She does indeed know Tilly. “Yes, I am decorating my quarters.”

“I brought you this,” Keyla says, and carefully sets down an object in front of Michael’s empty plate.

“Is that – What is that?” she asks, picking the object up with as much care as Keyla had set it down.

“It’s a model of the first ever successful airplane made by Humans on Earth in 1903.”

“Wow!” Michael lifts it right up to eyelevel and gazes at it, turning it this way and that. “That’s amazing! Thank you, Keyla.”

The other woman smiles at her. “I never actually said this before, but I have forgiven you for what happened at the Battle of the Binary Stars. I know it wasn’t all your fault, and I know you were trying to save Captain Georgiou and all of us aboard the _Shenzhou_.”

Michael swallows hard, blinking back tears.

“Aw, now you’ve made her cry,” Joann protests. “Give her a hug!”

“That’s not –” She doesn’t get to finish before Keyla’s around the table, pulling her to her feet and wrapping her arms around her, holding her very tightly.

They hold each other for some time, Michael with her eyes closed because she’s on the verge of making a fool of herself by being very Human and emotional.

She’s startled when a low voice nearby asks quietly, “Everything all right?” She opens her eyes, blinking hard, to see the Captain’s concerned face just feet away.

“We’re fine, Captain,” Michael says, as strongly as she can manage.

Keyla pulls away, gives her a slightly tremulous smile, then sits back down beside Joann.

“If you’re sure?” the Captain asks. 

Michael nods. “Quite sure, thank you Captain.”

He nods back, then moves over to the replicators, and Michael brushes her eyes with the back of her hand, then sits back down and does her best to smile at Keyla and Joann.

“I brought you something, too,” Joann says, and starts to unroll the large tube of paper in her hand across the table.

Michael quickly passes the model airplane back to Keyla for safekeeping, then lifts her tray and sets it aside on the empty table beside them.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks, a little breathlessly. 

“Depends on whether you think it’s a star chart from Earth in 2063, when Zefram Cochrane made First Contact with the Vulcans,” Joann answers with a broad smile.

“Wherever did you get it?” Michael asks.

“It’s a replica and it was owned by my great-grandmother – the only one of my family, besides me, who escaped from the Luddite commune where I grew up.”

“I can’t take this,” Michael protests instinctively. “Not if it’s a family heirloom.”

“Sure you can,” Joann says firmly. “I have several more.”

“It’s true,” Keyla says, “she’s got them all over the walls of her quarters.” She rolls her eyes, but Michael doesn’t miss the fond look she directs at Joann and she smiles.

“Well then, thank you,” Michael says with real gratitude. “I’ll hang it on my wall.”

Joann grins, rolls up the star chart again, then stands. “I like you, Michael Burnham,” she says, punching Michael’s shoulder lightly. “You’re one of the good ones.”

Michael feels a flush of gratitude heat her cheeks. “Thanks, Joann. You too.”

“Let’s get out of here, before everyone becomes too emotional to function,” Keyla says, passing the model airplane back to Michael with a small smile. “See you later, Burnham.”

Michael nods at them both, and smiles, feeling a little wonderment at the generosity of others.

“It’s not your birthday, is it Commander?”

Michael startles a little at the Captain’s voice behind her, and she turns to give him a smile. “No, sir, it’s not.” She looks at the friendly curiosity in his eyes and gives a mental shrug. “My brother commented on the Spartan nature of my half of my quarters. I wondered if I should decorate, and Ensign Tilly is, apparently, spreading the news around the ship. Keyla and Joann brought me some things to add to my décor.”

“That’s very kind of them,” he says, smiling.

“Yes sir.” She looks at the star chart and the model, and says, “It’s funny how both they and Commander Saru have given me something that represents their personal interests.”

“Why is it funny?” Pike asks as she starts for the doors and he falls in beside her.

“Amanda always gave me to understand that among Humans, gift giving was centred on giving something you believed the recipient wanted or needed, usually relating to their interests, rather than those of the gift giver.”

“That is the traditional kind of gift giving, yes,” Pike agrees. “But I always felt the best gifts are the ones that are also representative of ourselves – that way the recipient is reminded of us when they see or use the gift.” 

“That makes sense,” Michael says with a smile. She looks at the star chart. “Now I have to figure out a way to put it up on my wall. I should probably have asked Joann for tips.”

“I could help, if you like.”

Michael stares at him disbelievingly. “You must have better things to do – you’re the Captain.”

“I can spare the time,” he says.

Michael’s too intrigued to turn him down, so they head to her quarters, and she watches in fascination as he assesses the best spot to put the wallchart, then proceeds to attach it to the bulkhead with ease.

“Thank you, sir,” she says, then looks around for the best place to put the model airplane.

“When I was a boy, I used to have model starships suspended on thin cords above my bed,” Pike says, with what looks like a fond smile. 

Michael looks up at the ceiling, then down at him. “Perhaps I should ask Mr Saru for help with this?” she suggests, the Kelpien being considerably taller than either of them.

“Or –” He sits on the side of her bed and pulls off his boots, which causes Michael to stare at him wide-eyed. “Relax, Michael,” he says with a warm, almost impish, smile. “I’m just gonna stand on your bed.”

“So I assumed, sir,” she says, wondering what he thought she might’ve been thinking, then suddenly realising, and blushing so hard she’s grateful for her darker skin. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Possibly not, but I know I can rely on you to resuscitate me if anything happens.” He positively smirks at her before climbing up onto her bed and reaching up to the ceiling.

Michael gazes up at him, trying not to look too closely at the stretch and pull of the fabric of his uniform over his muscles. 

“I’m gonna need some cord.”

Michael can’t help laughing, and he looks down at her, clearly puzzled. “Don’t you think the smarter thing to do would have been to get the cord before you went climbing onto my bed?” she teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, alright,” he says, sounding grumpy, but she can see his eyes are twinkling. “Are you going to replicate some? Or are you just going to stand there laughing at my predicament?”

She smirks. “Tempting though it is,” she says, and he rolls his eyes again. 

She chuckles, then crosses to the replicator and at his direction, replicates the necessary cords and the hooks to hang them from. Then she climbs up on the bed beside him and holds the model airplane while he decides how to suspend it from the ceiling. She forces herself not to think about how warm his body feels and refuses to recall she once had him in her arms after he ejected from his Landing Pod above that asteroid.

He finally gets the model suspended to his satisfaction, talking quietly about his boyhood as he works, and when he’s finished she can’t help thinking he looks as happy as a boy at his success. 

He lowers his arms, then looks at her intently and she looks back, curious as to what he’s thinking. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save your mother, Michael.”

His soft words and sincere expression make her breath hitch and she bites her bottom lip in an effort not to cry all over again. She doesn’t know what he reads in her expression, but he lifts his arms to clasp her shoulders, and without warning she starts sobbing. She’s not so very surprised when he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, and she doesn’t think too hard about holding him back. 

“I’ve got you, Michael,” he tells her. “I’ve got you.”

She struggles to stop crying, because even though it feels good to be comforted, he’s the Captain, and he’s got more important things to do with his time.

He starts rubbing a hand up and down her upper arm, and for some reason that just makes her sob more.

“It’s okay to cry, Michael,” he says quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she hiccoughs, and she feels his cheek press against the top of her head.

“Good. I was worried you were too used to dealing with everything through the lens of your Vulcan upbringing.”

She swallows repeatedly, trying to regain control. “I’ve cried so much already,” she tells him.

“There’s no limit on the amount you’re allowed to cry,” he says softly. 

When her tears finally ease up she shifts away from him, and he loosens his hold on her, then slips his index finger under her chin and tilts her head up.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “Any time.”

“Really?” she can’t help asking.

He nods. “Really, Michael. Any time it all gets too much, you can come to me.”

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for your assistance with the decorating project.”

He smiles. “Any time. And yes, really,” he adds before she can even think of commenting. 

They climb down off the bed, then stand side by side, looking up at the suspended model airplane. 

“I heard you were up all night in the lab,” he says after a bit. “You should probably get some rest.”

“Yes sir.”

He grabs his boots from the floor, then sits on Tilly’s bed to yank them on. “I’ll see you later, Commander.”

“Yes sir.” 

He nods at her, then lets himself out of her quarters, and she has a moment of panic that he might be seen exiting her quarters, which could start all sorts of rumours. Then she shakes her head, deciding it’s his problem to handle, and she starts shedding her uniform feeling more than ready for bed after her extended crying jag. 

CMB-CMB-CMB-CMB

A couple of days later Michael is in the Bridge officers' gym, beating up one of the dummies when Nhan comes in and asks if she has a minute.

“Of course,” Michael says, and picks up the bottle of water she's been rehydrating with. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, I wanted to do something for you,” Nhan says. Then she holds out, across the palms of her hands – like an offering, Michael thinks – a dagger with a very sharp looking blade, and an elaborately wrapped handle.

“That's your dagger,” Michael says. “I've seen you fighting the Captain and my brother with it.”

“It is a replica of my dagger,” Nhan explains. “I want you to have a gift from me. Purely for decoration if you wish, or for use in combat.”

Michael swallows the lump of emotion that seems to have lodged itself in her throat. “Thank you, Nhan, this is a handsome gift.”

Nhan smiles. “And if you like, I can show you how to fight with it.”

“I would love to learn from you,” Michael says immediately.

“I have some free time now myself, if you're not too tired.”

Michael shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Then I will show you the first three basic moves on which all other moves are built.”

“That sounds good.”

After an hour Nhan pronounces Michael proficient in the first three moves, which startles Michael. 

“Already?” she asks. “I imagined it’d take – I don’t know – days or weeks of instruction.”

Nhan smiles broadly. “You are an extremely quick learner, Commander. And I suspect your _suus mahna_ training helps. I will save the next four moves for another day.”

“Very well,” Michael agrees.

“Perhaps, if you're not too tired, you could begin showing me some of the _suus mahna_? Your brother has mentioned it often.”

“I'd be delighted to,” Michael says immediately.

About half an hour later Captain Pike walks through the doors, and Michael sees him smile as Nhan takes her down.

“Looking for a sparring partner, Chris?” Nhan asks when she spots him.

“As it happens, I am, but don't let me interrupt.”

“Perhaps you and Nhan would like to challenge me?” Michael suggests with a cheeky grin.

“Two against one?” asks the Captain. “Is that fair?”

“Oh well if you don't think you can take me,” Michael says, deliberately inserting a taunting note in her voice.

“I'm more concerned about wiping the floor with you,” he says apologetically.

“I promise I won't hold it against you, Captain.”

Michael can see that Nhan is looking dubious, but she doesn't say anything which suits Michael.

“Chris,” he says, and when Michael raises an eyebrow, he adds, “We're off duty, so no need for the rank.”

Michael nods. “So, what's it to be, Chris?” she asks, relishing the way his name sounds from her mouth.

“Very well, Michael,” he agrees, smiling warmly at her.

She nods, then makes a beckoning gesture. “Do your worst, Chris.”

He chuckles and mentally she shakes her head. Then he looks to Nhan and makes a tiny gesture with his left hand, the one on Nhan's side and Michael sees her give a subtle nod in response.

Chris circles to his right towards Michael, while Nhan circles to the left, and Michael bites back a grin. She's seen them perform this manoeuvre with Spock, quite recently, and she knows precisely how he counters it. She hasn't practiced the moves herself, but she feels fairly confident that she can take them both down.

“Let's make this interesting,” she suggests as they both close in. “The loser or losers has to host the winner or winners for dinner.”

Chris raises his eyebrows, then smirks at her. “I look forward to being your guest,” he says with an air of confidence.

Michael grins, then spins away from him as he closes in for the 'kill'. Her move takes her straight into Nhan's path, and she takes the other woman down with one sweep of her legs, then she pivots around and ducks under Chris' arms, and takes him down with a flick of his body over her bent back. He crashes to the ground with an audible whoosh of air from his lungs, then lies there, chest clearly heaving for breath.

She offers a hand to Nhan and pulls her up. Then she plants her hands on her hips and gazes down at her Captain. “Would dinner tonight suit, Chris?”

He blinks a couple of times, then pushes himself up onto one elbow. “However did you manage that?” His tone is a mixture of bewilderment and dismay.

“Pro tip, Chris,” Michael says with a somewhat savage smile. “Expect others to learn from you if they can watch what you're doing. Works just as well for sparring as for Captaincy.”

He drops his head back to the ground. “Well hell,” he says, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “That's larned me, hasn't it?”

“Hopefully it's also taught you not to make assumptions about your opponents,” Michael says, unable to resist a dig.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then sits up again. Michael offers him a hand and he lets her help him up, then he stands staring at her, their hands still clasped. “I really ought to know better than to underestimate you by now. I was arrogant and deserved the ass-whupping. I apologise, Commander Burnham.”

“Apology accepted,” Michael answers. “So, dinner tonight?”

He nods, smiling, and they turn to Nhan.

“I can't I'm afraid. I'm on duty.”

Michael nods. “I look forward to having dinner with you some other time,” she says.

“Nineteen hundred hours suit you, Michael” he asks as they head towards the middle of the floor for another round.

“Perfectly, thank you.” Michael can't quite believe he's not putting her off until Nhan is also free, but she will admit, to herself if no one else, that she is already looking forward to it.

CMB-CMB-CMB-CMB

A couple of days after her dinner with the Captain, Michael wakes up with a violent lurch that almost tosses her onto the floor. Her heart is hammering and her lungs are heaving, and she utters a strangled cry before she realises that she’s in her bed on board the _Discovery_ and not strapped to a chair down on Essof IV with the toxic atmosphere stripping away her skin and scouring her lungs.

She buries her face in her pillow, sobbing, and grateful that Tilly is working the gamma shift so she isn’t here to witness Michael breaking down. Again.

Once she’s calmed down, she realises she won’t be able to go back to sleep again, so she pulls on her gym clothes and heads down to the gym to see if she can banish her demons with exercise.

After a very energetic session with the sparring dummy, Michael showers, then heads to the Mess Hall for an early breakfast. She’s just crossing the room to a table when Dr Culber comes in. He stops in his tracks when he sees her, surprise and concern blooming in his face. 

“May I join you?” he asks, and she nods.

A few moments later he settles into the chair next to hers. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks lightly.

“Nightmare,” she answers, feeling that if she can be honest with anyone about it, it’s Hugh Culber.

He touches her forearm briefly before attacking his breakfast. “I’ve asked the Captain to request a counsellor be assigned to the crew,” he tells her.

She goes still, staring over the fork that’s arrested almost at her mouth. “What did he say?” she asks, then puts the food in her mouth.

“He said he should have thought of it himself, and should have made the request once Starfleet decided to leave him here for the duration of the _Enterprise_ ’s repair.”

Michael chews in silence for a couple of minutes, then says, “I dreamt I was strapped to that chair.”

“I’m not surprised you’re dreaming about that. It was horrific.” He glances away, then glances back. “I’m surprised the Captain agreed to the plan.”

“To be honest with you Dr Culber, I was surprised too.”

“Dr Pollard was extremely unhappy with me, afterwards,” he says. “She actually yelled at the Captain, too.”

“Did she?” Michael asks, surprised. “How did he take it?”

“Stoically, for the most part. She said that the next time any crew member came up with such a recklessly dangerous plan, he was to send them to her so she could sedate them and restrain them for their own safety.” 

“Oh.” Michael swallows some of her fruit juice, feeling rather glad she’d been unconscious for that bit of the conversation.

“He promised he would, too,” Dr Culber says. “So try not to come up with any more recklessly dangerous plans.”

“Yes Doctor,” Michael responds, and he gives her a wry smile. 

They finish their breakfast talking about the mycelial network, and when they reach the doors, he checks the time, then asks, “What time are you on duty?”

“Thirteen hundred hours.”

“Walk back to my quarters with me? I’ve got something to show you.”

“Of course.” Michael feels a little surprised by his request, but grants it readily. 

She checks in the doorway, much as Dr Culber had done in the Mess Hall, at the sight of Paul Stamets emerging from the bedroom, then she smiles, a little shyly, at both men.

“Morning Commander,” Stamets says cheerfully.

“Mr Stamets.” She nods at him, then quirks an eyebrow when Dr Culber laughs. 

“Such formality,” he teases them. “What’s wrong with ‘Paul’ and ‘Michael’?”

“There doesn’t appear to be anything wrong, beyond insufficient sleep, with Michael,” Paul says with a smirk.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Whereas the only thing wrong with Paul, as usual, is his appalling sense of humour.”

The three of them laugh and Michael finds the last of her post-nightmare tension vanishing in the sound of their laughter.

“I met Michael in the Mess Hall, and figured to bring her back here so we could give her our gift,” Hugh tells Paul.

“You guys don’t have to give me a gift,” Michael protests.

“Of course we don’t have to,” Hugh says.

“But we want to,” Paul adds.

“Okay, that’s a little creepy,” she tells them, smirking when they both roll their eyes.

“Here,” Hugh says, and catches hold of her wrist to draw her closer to the table where he’s just finished unrolling a large length of fabric.

“Wait, is that the mycelial network?” Michael asks, startled, as she looks down at the design printed on the fabric.

“It is,” Paul says, and begins excitedly explaining how they’d worked out how to print the design onto the fabric. Hugh chimes in occasionally, and Michael thinks she might never stop smiling – not so much because of the wall hanging, though she loves it, but because they’re actually back together again as a couple.

“I can’t thank you both enough,” she tells them, then grabs them both in a hug, and Hugh laughs, while Paul says plaintively, “No one told me there’d be hugging.”

Michael laughs, then pokes him in the ribs, making him yelp, then Hugh asks him if he needs it kissed better.

“Okay, that’s definitely my cue to leave,” she tells them. “Thank you both very much for my lovely gift. I’ll see you later.”

She hurries out, still smiling, and walks smack into a solid body running down the hallway. “Oof!”

Strong hands steady her before she falls down and she looks at the Captain in surprise, before realising he must be exercising. “Good morning Michael,” he says, smiling warmly at her.

“Morning, sir. Thanks for the save.” 

“You’re welcome.” He glances at the roll of fabric she’s carrying. “Another gift for your quarters?”

“Yes. Hugh and Paul gave me a wall hanging.” She unrolls the top a few inches. “It’s the mycelial network, or a part of it.”

“Very fitting,” he comments. “Need a hand putting it up?”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your run, sir.”

“That’s alright. I hate running on my own anyway.”

“Well, in that case, sir, yes please. And thank you.”

They walk back to her quarters, and she asks him if he knows that Paul and Hugh are back together.

“I had an inkling,” he says. “But no more, so I’m glad to have that confirmed.”

“It can’t have been easy for Dr Culber,” she observes thoughtfully. “Dying and then coming back to life.”

“From what I understand, you’ve done it twice now,” he says, his tone sombre.

“I suppose Spock told you about the attack on the Vulcan Learning Centre?” she asks.

“And how you tried to run away from home in consequence. And that you were trying to protect him, and Sarek and Amanda in doing so. He’s told me in more detail about seeing Dr Burnham as a child.”

“I see.”

“I thought it was very brave of you, to try to protect your foster family in such a manner. And somehow, very you.”

“You mean dramatic and prone to martyrdom?” she asks, a slightly bitter tone to her words. She opens the door to her quarters, and he follows her inside.

“I don’t think you’re either of those things,” he says, his tone earnest. “It’s not surprising that you blamed yourself for both the deaths of your parents, as you thought had happened, or for the attack on the Learning Centre. I don’t suppose Vulcans go in for therapists the way Humanity does.”

Michael can’t help snorting a little at this. “Sarek told me to use Logic to overcome my emotions when I was beset by my memories.”

He winces. “Not really the sort of thing a child needs to hear when trying to deal with trauma, or double trauma in your case. I’ve put in a request to Starfleet for a counsellor for _Discovery_.”

“So Dr Culber told me when we were talking earlier.”

“Did he? What do you think of the idea of seeing someone about your traumas?”

Michael shifts uncomfortably, then says, “Will it be obligatory, sir?”

“Not at all.” He puts a hand on her arm. “Neither I, nor anyone else, would dream of forcing you to see a counsellor. But you might want to give it some consideration.”

“Yes sir.”

He nods, then looks at her space. “On the bulkhead alongside the mirror?” he suggests.

Michael nods. “That’s probably the best – and it’ll complement the star chart at the opposite end of my space.”

He holds out the wall hanging, which she takes, then fetches the chair from by the door. 

“Is it a good idea to stand on that?” she asks doubtfully as he sets it down.

“It’s only for a few minutes and, again, I trust you to resuscitate me if necessary.” He looks at her very intently. “You caught me when I had to eject out of that Landing Pod so I know you’re a safe pair of hands.”

Michael flushes with warmth at his praise, and with the memory of holding him in her arms as they hurtled towards what might have been a very painful death. “Thank you.”

He smiles at her, then takes the hanging from her and proceeds to attach it to the bulkhead with very little effort. He steps down from the chair, then comes to stand beside her and looks at her space.

“It’s looking quite homely,” he says.

“Hopefully Spock won’t complain about it the next time he drops by to be sarcastic at me – or to play chess, whichever he chooses to do.”

The Captain chuckles, moves her chair back to its usual place, then gives her a nod. “I’ll see you later, Michael.”

“At thirteen hundred hours, sir,” she agrees.

He lets himself out of her quarters, and Michael is just looking again at how more personal her half of the space looks when Tilly comes bustling in, only to stop dead at she catches sight of the hanging at the far end of the room.

“Oh they gave it to you!” she exclaims, sounding so happy.

“You knew about this?” Michael asks, then wonders why she’s surprised – of course Tilly would know about the hanging, if anyone else would.

She crosses to where Michael’s standing, and touches her shoulder. “You don’t mind, do you? I mean, I’d hate for you to think I’m interfering when I’m just trying to help. It’s just that, you know –”

“Tilly,” Michael says, cutting across her unnecessary apologies. “I don’t mind. Thank you for caring so much about me.

“Well, you’re my friend,” Tilly says brightly. “And your brother wasn’t wrong about your space looking bare. Now it doesn’t.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Michael agrees. “Have you had breakfast?”

“I have. Have you?”

“I have,” agrees Michael. “I went for an early-ish breakfast after working out in the gym and I encountered Dr Culber in the Mess Hall, which is how he and Mr Stamets ended up giving me the hanging.”

“Did you have a nightmare?” Tilly asks, and Michael winces at the thought of being that obvious.

“Hey, don’t do that,” the younger woman says, and Michael raises an eyebrow. “You winced, when I asked if you’d had a nightmare. Like you’re ashamed to admit to it, or something.”

“Well, I was raised on Vulcan –” Michael begins.

“Where everyone is taught to suppress their emotions, turning them into total Logic robots, yes,” Tilly finishes, then blushes bright red and puts her hands over her mouth. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I called you a ‘Logic robot’!”

Michael can’t help it, she laughs. “It’s not an entirely inaccurate description,” she points out, and Tilly gives her a worried look. “It’s okay, Sylvia. I really don’t mind,” she says reassuringly. Then feels confused when the young ensign throws herself into Michael’s arms, and she feels even more confused that she would do that – just throw herself at someone and assume they’ll catch her. Then she’s reminded of the Captain’s comments about her being a ‘safe pair of hands’, and finds herself feeling a bit overwhelmed. She backs up to her bed, Tilly still in her arms, and sits them both down, leaving one arm around her friend.

“What was that all about?” she asks, because Tilly looks near to tears and she is worried that she’s upset her after Tilly’s been nothing but kindness ever since Michael was foisted on her as her roommate.

“You called me ‘Sylvia’,” Tilly says, and Michael can see tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says hastily. “I didn’t realise that would be triggering.”

“Oh no! No, no, no! It’s not! I promise you it’s not!”

“Okay. Do you want to explain, then?”

Tilly takes a deep breath and Michael waits patiently for an explanation.

“Almost no one ever calls me ‘Sylvia’ – it’s always ‘Tilly’ or ‘Ensign’. Sometimes I even forget my first name is ‘Sylvia’.”

“Would you like me to call you ‘Sylvia’ in the future?”

“I don’t – I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well think about it and let me know when you know.”

“Thank you, Michael. You’re the best.”

Michael gave her friend’s shoulders a squeeze. “You should get some rest,” she suggests. “I’m going to head to the lab to do some work.”

“Talk to you later,” Tilly says, and moves back to her own space. 

“Of course,” Michael agrees, and sets about changing out of her workout clothes and into her uniform again.

CMB-CMB-CMB-CMB

It’s a few days later when her door chimes, and Michael opens it to see Spock and the Captain there together.

“You’ve been recalled to the _Enterprise_ ,” she says immediately.

“An interesting leap of Logic, sister,” Spoke intones, then raises an eyebrow. 

She steps back then waves them inside, and before she can say anything else, Spock holds out a square object in a mid-blue colour. She takes it, slightly baffled, and glances sideways at the Captain. He smiles at her reassuringly.

Michael turns the object around and realises it’s a cushion, and that the other side has an image printed on it of the _Discovery_ and the _Enterprise_ facing each other.

“It’s for your chair,” Spock says as she stares at it.

She swallows. “So I deduced,” she says. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I realised I had been remiss in not giving you something, and this seemed appropriate.”

She gives him a slightly tremulous smile, then turns around and sets it carefully against the back of the chair so that the image can be seen easily.

He steps backwards, tucking his hands behind his back, then steps away from her and the Captain to look at the wall hanging. Michael looks back at Pike, and he smiles. 

“We have been recalled to the _Enterprise_ ,” he tells her, and she nods, feeling her throat close against an urge to cry. “I’ve brought you a farewell gift.” He brings his hands from behind his back and holds out two tall, rectangular objects that she takes a moment to recognise, they’re so incongruous.

“You brought me tea?” she asks, a little doubtfully, though the objects certainly look similar to the tea canisters Philippa used on the _Shenzhou_.

“I brought you tea,” he confirms, and clasps her shoulder as she takes the canisters from him. “Not quite as permanent as your other gifts, although the canisters themselves should last a while, and they’re decorative.”

Michael nods, looking down at them – they’re the same shade of blue as her uniform, one with silver accents, the other with gold, like her current and previous uniforms. “Thank you, Captain.”

“I’ve also forwarded an order to my supplier for more, so you won’t run out imminently.”

“Thank you,” she repeats, then walks around the head of her bed to set the canisters on her desk.

“Your space is very pleasant, now,” Spock tells her, looking up at the model airplane. “It is reflective of you and your friendships.”

“It is,” Michael agrees. “Thank you.”

He nods. “It has been good to see you and to work alongside you, Michael. I shall – miss you.”

“And I you,” she says, swallowing hard against the tears that are threatening. To her astonishment Spock actually hugs her, albeit briefly. 

“Be careful out here, sister.”

“You too, brother.” 

He gives her a nod, then walks out of her quarters, and she gives Pike a tremulous smile.

“It’s been a privilege to serve with you, sir,” she tells him.

He moves towards her and she moves as well, and then he’s hugging her and she finds herself crying after all. “I’m sorry,” she sobs.

“Don’t be, Michael,” he says softly, giving her a brief squeeze. “I feel honoured to have worked with you, and I shall miss having you on my bridge.”

She tries to respond, but cannot. She can only cling to him as she sobs. She feels his cheek against her hair, then he starts rubbing her shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry you’ve had a rough couple of weeks,” the Captain says. “But you’ve been magnificent, Michael. I’ve probably leaned on you a bit more than was fair, but as I keep telling you, you’re a safe pair of hands.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“I think you’re allowed to call me Chris, at least this once.”

She pulls back a bit, wiping at her eyes with the back of a hand, her other arm still curled about him. “Thank you, Chris.”

He smiles down at her and as she looks up at him she wonders, suddenly, about kissing him. It’s a strange thought to have, but before she can consider it properly a hail cuts through her quarters.

“Bridge to Captain Pike.”

“Pike here, Mr Saru.”

“We’re being hailed by the _Enterprise_ , sir.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Aye sir.”

“You have to go,” Michael says, stepping back from him and scrubbing at her face again.

“I do, I’m afraid,” Chris says quietly. “But we don’t have to be strangers. I hope you and your brother will remain on speaking terms, and maybe you’ll even be able to spend a few days aboard the _Enterprise_ with us the next time you get some down time.”

Michael swallows, then nods. “I’d like that, sir.”

He clasps her shoulders and presses his lips to her forehead, then turns abruptly and strides out. Michael turns away from the door, ignoring the temptation to follow him, then she pulls off her boots and curls up on her bed, her back to the room. She fights against her urge to cry all over again, but in the end she gives in. 

She’s dozing, almost asleep in fact, when the air behind her is disturbed, then a familiar voice surprises her by saying, “There you are.”

She turns over and stares up, bewildered, at the familiar figure of Emperor Georgiou standing beside her bed. Some of her bewilderment stems from the fact that the other woman is apparently able to enter her quarters without any announcement, but most of her confusion comes from the sight of the Terran dressed in a Starfleet Captain’s uniform.

“Philippa?” she says, her voice gone husky from crying so much.

“Hello my darling,” she says, then she draws Michael upright before clasping her face in both hands and kissing her very thoroughly. “I’m back. Permanently this time, as your new Captain.”

Michael can only stare for a moment, then she groans, grabs the other woman, and hauls her onto the bed with her. She clasps her chin with one hand, and kisses Philippa with a hint of desperation, but mostly with a feeling of relief at the other woman’s arrival. She slides a hand between Philippa’s legs, and the other woman laughs in obvious delight, then opens Michael’s pants.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,” the Terran says, pushing two fingers into her.

“Computer, Privacy Protocol,” Michael calls, and Philippa laughs again, then begins nuzzling the side of her neck as her fingers work inside her.

As she shudders through her first orgasm, Michael has no thoughts to spare for either her brother Spock, or her former Captain. Philippa Georgiou has filled her senses, her body, and her mind, and Michael finds she has no objections to such a situation.

 

_*** Transmission Ends ***_


End file.
